


Amoral Young Men

by raven_aorla



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Assassins Being Cute, Coming Out, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Humor, Discussion of BDSM, Discussion of suicidal ideation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, References to Homophobia, References to Transphobia, Sexuality Crisis, mentions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: When Nygma finally stopped giving long-winded orders, Zsasz confirmed, “Just to be clear, we’re not torturing Charles, but you want him contained until you guys have made up your mind about what to do with him. You also think it'd be nice if he could get laid and stop making eyes at his stepbrother.”Nygma's blush was hilarious.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What It Is We've Done](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966777) by [irisbleufic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic). 



> Contains spoilers for the fic it is inspired by! Stop now if that bothers you!
> 
> ***
> 
> Specifically inspired by this exchange from "What It Is We've Done":
> 
>   _Elijah nodded in agreement. “Edward, take him upstairs,” he said. “Stay until I call for you. While we wait for the police, I'm going to have a talk with Charles. I don't...” He lowered his voice, stepping closer while Charles spoke wanly into the phone. “I don't think we can let him stay, but I beg you to spare him. I adopted Grace's children. In the eyes of the law, Charles is also my son.”_
> 
>   _Oswald waved his hand vaguely, eyes shut tight, his head swimming. “Yes, yes, we'll...find him something to do, I'm sure. Victor has...connections. And knows a lot of amoral young men.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have used these OC's (even if some of them are technically canon Zsaszettes I've fleshed out) in many AUs, and irisbleufic has borrowed some of them on occasion. Their primary home is the [Sheaths and Safeties](http://archiveofourown.org/series/845787) series, which occupies a different continuity from this one.

Edward Nygma, purely as a specimen rather than a client, had a certain semi-pretty hipster noodle charm to him, Zsasz thought upon meeting him for the first time - unless you counted shooting up his workplace a year-ish ago. Bit fussy for his taste. Would probably micromanage, and was bad at getting to the point. That was another reason he hoped Penguin would get better soon. Kudos to the geeky boy for patching him up. Zsasz knew better than to underestimate Nygma, even as he got a little bored with the circumlocution and “ums”.

Penguin’s dad’s house was hella nice, even the foyer where Zsasz and two of the ladies were getting their instructions. Leonara’s gaze kept drifting from Nygma to an oil painting on the wall. Not a lot of people knew about her interest in art history (or Candy’s interest in ‘50s movies, or Yoona’s talent for styling other peoples’ hair, or Butch-killed Jane’s obsession with singers Suzanne Vega and Joni Mitchell…). 

When Nygma finally stopped giving long-winded orders, Zsasz confirmed, “Just to be clear, we’re not torturing Charles, but you want him contained until you guys have made up your mind about what to do with him. You also think it'd be nice if he could get laid and stop making eyes at his stepbrother."

Nygma's blush was hilarious. “Um...that’s not what I explicitly...uh...well…”

“I’m not saying we’re gonna make it happen, I just got the impression that you feel sorry for him.” Zsasz grinned in his most innocent manner, which was not very.

“If you stay right here, I’ll go fetch him,” Nygma said quickly, and darted away.

The moment he was gone, Leonara asked, “Do you suppose he remembers me seeing him hiding under a table and pausing for a second before deciding he was behaving well enough to spare?”

“That would account for the stammering.” Candy left her stiff, professional pose to start poking at the walls.

Zsasz tried not to laugh. This was exactly why Zsaszettes didn’t talk or show much personality unless absolutely necessary while they were backing him up in a fight. He was too damn fond of them and it could get distracting. “What are you doing, C?”

“I’m looking for hidden passages. This is exactly the kind of mansion that would have secret doorways and junk.” She paused and made eye contact with him, smiling slyly. “If we want to get him laid, locking the puppy in a room with him and waiting a few hours should do the trick.”

She didn’t mean a literal puppy. That would an entirely different conundrum they would _not_ be interested in helping with. Back when Zsasz first made a deal with some bright young thing to do housework and grunt work in exchange for food, shelter, and assassin training, the Zsaszettes had disliked Zsasz referring to the apprentice as “our bitch”. The substituted, more adorable and less sexist nickname had evolved into a lowercase title. Puppies earned their real names back when their contract was up. 

“More like minutes if he’s hot,” Leonara corrected. 

Zsasz made a thoughtful noise and sent off a text message. 

***

Edward knocked on Charles’ bedroom door, then opened it without waiting for a response. “Elijah’s, ah, quietly processing recent events in his room, and he says his conversation with you earlier had everything he has to say to you at this time. Oswald’s fever is still higher than ideal. So it’ll just be me sending you off.”

Charles gulped. “Can I take my typewriter?” He’d only been allowed one large suitcase and a valise. 

“Probably. It’s not as if you’re going on a plane.” At least he was being businesslike and cordial. It could be a lot worse. It could be considerably worse. “For your novel?”

“Yes.” He’d already packed his research notes and what currently existed of the first draft. He’d rather lose all his other possessions before those. He could afford - well, could have afforded - to go with word processing instead, but he liked the aesthetic. The louder clack of the warm keys. The ding of a finished row of text. 

“Keeping yourself occupied is probably a good idea,” Edward said. “I’ll help you with the larger suitcase so you can carry it carefully.”

 _What’s going to happen to me?_ Charles wanted to ask as they made their way down the stairs, but he was afraid of the answer. He’d already been told that he wasn’t going to come to physical harm - or reported for conspiracy to commit murder - as long as he stuck to the story currently being fed to the GCPD about why his mother and sister were dead. There was a lot of scope for misfortune beyond that. 

When they reached the landing, Edward glanced at him and his face softened a fraction. “Don’t torment yourself with thoughts of what might have happened if you’d chosen differently. I already knew there was a plot. You didn’t save anyone’s life at the cost of two others. You saved your own life by demonstrating that you don’t want any of us dead. None of us particularly want bad things to happen to you.”

“You just don’t want me around.” Last-minute change of heart or not, he was still a traitor who hadn’t reported Mother’s and Sasha’s scheming immediately. He couldn’t deny it.

“At least not while things are so sensitive. I’m told Zsasz and his people are congenial when their job doesn’t require otherwise.” There seemed to be a slight shudder at the tail end of the sentence, which wasn’t comforting. 

“That’s...nice?” Charles’ understanding was that Oswald trusted few of his employees with knowledge of his sensitive family matters, and this was the only one with the resources and flexibility for an unusual arrangement like this.

Edward gave him an encouraging smile and continued onwards. “Riddle for you: a criminal stands before the judge, and the judge is sympathetic to his situation but according to the law he must die. So she tells him he may choose the manner of his death. What should he choose?” 

Charles didn’t know. It didn’t seem to bother Edward, though, who delivered him over to the ominous black-leather-clad trio without another word. Victor Zsasz looked like he’d be handsome with more hair and a less manic default expression. The African-American woman with the magenta streak in her hair was very attractive from a purely aesthetic point of view. The gray-eyed blonde was less revealingly dressed and not unattractive, but she had rather broad shoulders and large hands that he found perplexing. He hoped it didn’t look like he was staring.

As they were about to get in the car - Charles refusing to look back at his home of so many years - Zsasz said, “If you sit politely with your hands in your lap, no making a scene, you can sit in the backseat. If you don’t, you and your luggage will switch places, understood?”

He sat politely in the backseat with his hands in his lap, looking out the window. Interestingly, it was the blonde who drove the car, while Zsasz was text messaging furiously in the passenger seat. As was the woman sitting next to Charles. Then they two laughed simultaneously, which meant they were probably texting each other. Were they friends? Lovers? He’d never truly thought of killers as real people. Ironically. 

He dug his nails into his palms and didn’t say a word, even as they drove into a part of Gotham he’d never seen in person but knew, as every Gothamite knew, was the Narrows.

***

Yoona, the most senior Zsaszette, had once cleared up some problems for this shabby little establishment some years back, and the management had been generous since then about letting the Zsasz Family keep people here for multiple days. The ones who weren’t destined for their basement, that was. The puppy was only a few months into this position back during the weeks when he could occasionally hear Butch Gilzean downstairs, not that he was allowed to go see. Not for puppies, that basement. (Butch deserved it. Even Zsasz had been torn up about losing Jane, let alone everyone else.)

After Yoona dropped him off - even people such as they wouldn’t leave a car parked on this block for long - he slipped the usual I-wasn’t-here tip to the heavily armed woman at the registration desk. He took the stairs instead of the elevator partly for exercise and partly because that elevator made disturbing rattling noises. His trusty rucksack wasn’t that heavy.

When he got to the room number he'd been texted, Zsasz was lounging against the door, picking at his fingernails. “There you are. Pretty simple. He doesn’t go anywhere without permission, he doesn’t injure himself, he gets a reasonable amount of food and so on, and you don’t leave him alone unless he’s in the bathroom and then for no more than ten minutes. Preferably with door cracked open. We’ll use the chore wheel we use when you have a day off. Candy will be back soon with supplies from the corner store once she’s done flirting with her favorite cashier. You know how she is.”

Yes, he knew. Candy had spent so much time telling Yoona all about the guy during their last playtime that Yoona had taken out the heavy duty gag. “Is he a suicide risk, Mr. Zsasz?” 

“I hadn’t really thought about it, but...his mom and sis just got killed in front of him, and he’s lost his home and inheritance. Is that the sort of thing that makes normal people suicidal?”

“Sometimes.”

“Mm, I always forget. Oh, and he’s in one of those closets with super thick walls but completely transparent doors.”

“If you’re referring to sexuality closets, that can also make people suicidal, yeah.” 

Zsasz clapped him on both shoulders. “You’re good with people you plan on leaving alive. I’m sure it’ll help. Keep your phone on and charged. Await instructions. Sorry you won’t be able to play with me and Leo tonight.” Leonara was straight, whereas Candy was into all genders but not into their boss specifically. Yoona would beat any of them on request, but would only make love to Kali. (As in their mob doctor, not as in the Hindu goddess.) Then there were auxiliary members of the crew. Soon after approaching the first of them and quickly getting drawn into the poly network, Nefyn had drawn himself Venn diagram for reference. It had additional color-coded notes on dom/sub dynamics, lists of kinks and limits, and an asterisk next to everyone besides himself who sometimes did vanilla.

“I’m sure the new handcuffs will keep, sir.” He had been looking forward to trying to get out of them, and even more looking forward to failing. Ah well. 

“Oh, just in case…” For a second it looked like Zsasz was fishing through one of his hidden spare ammo pockets, but it was actually a pack of condoms and a travel-size lube bottle. They'd probably been swiped from the box in the car trunk next to the mundane first aid kit. “You absolutely don’t have to do anything, but if you do, here you go. You have my permission. Endorsement. Sponsorship.”

“Do I get some sort of bonus if I do?” Being paid entirely in food, shelter, medical care, and the occasional new set of clothes or weapons was fine for now, but it would be nice to have pocket money. He refused to touch his inheritance if he could help it. 

“You’ll get twice as much salary as do now, how about that?” Zsasz smirked. And didn’t so much kiss him as briefly try to consume the lower half of his face while grabbing his ass. Stuff that his other partners would have given him a bloody nose over rather than going blushy.

***

The hotel room was more of a budget extended stay suite or a shabby but clean one-room apartment. The carpet looked like a dog had vomited on part of it and the staff decided to camouflage the stain by dyeing the rest to match. Charles wasn’t enthusiastic about the sickly green paint scheme on the walls, either, but the place was outfitted acceptably. There was dining table, a sink, some cupboards, and a microwave on top of a small refrigerator in the same room as the couch and TV. The toilet, bathroom sink, and shower/bath were in a separate room. The bed was not truly in its own room, but at least nestled in an alcove alongside the safe and closet.

The bed. One bed.

Zsasz and his henchwomen had left Charles alone in here a few minutes ago. Zsasz said he needed to talk to ‘the babysitter’. Charles sank into the sofa and tried to get his breathing in order.

When the door opened, Charles wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or even more tense. On the one hand, his relatively petit guard probably wouldn’t be putting him in a state of perpetual intimidation the way the others would have. On the other hand, he was _far too attractive_ , without the protective factor of being off-limits like Oswald. He looked to be around the same age as Charles, dark brown hair tied in a small knot at the back of his neck with an electric blue elastic, bright green eyes quickly scanning his surroundings. He dropped his large black backpack onto the floor and shrugged off his black leather jacket, hanging it on a wall peg without completely losing sight of Charles. He did not remove his cobalt blue leather driving gloves. His t-shirt was a surprisingly bright shade of azure. The rest of his outfit - belt, fitted though not to the point of tight denim pants, what might have been black Doc Martins but required closer inspection, a loosely knotted neckerchief - were the expected black. Wait, no, the glimpse of his socks showed that they had subtle navy stripes.

He turned around to face Charles fully and gave him a small smile. He had a slight tan but seemed naturally olive-skinned regardless, with facial features and a jawline more pretty than straightforwardly handsome. Someone you might meet at a bar and ironically _not_ fear for your life if you went home with him. Probably convenient in his profession, if he was one for the stealth attack. Charles would have believed he was a dancer, even a gymnast, if it hadn’t been for the gun holster on one hip and the knife holster on the other. He actually sounded pleased to see him. “Hi. Do you want to be called Van Dahl or Charles? Or something else?”

“Uh...Charles.”

“I’m the Zsasz household’s current apprentice, but I can assure you I have all the expertise needed.”

“Apprentice?”

“Yes. My name’s Nefyn.” He approached with a hand extended.

“Nefyn?” He had never heard that name before in his entire life. 

Nefyn snorted as they shook hands. “It's Welsh, apparently. If you insist on echoing me this entire time, this is going to be tedious.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s the spirit.” Nefyn gestured towards the typewriter. “That’s neat. Goes with the whole look, huh?”

“What?”

“You’re all in black, but a different kind of black. Artsy black. Do you have a beret? I’m not teasing you, I swear, I’m just feeling you out.”

The word choice was enough for Charles to want to hide under the bed. “I didn’t bring it. Never found an occasion.”

“There’s gotta be clubs or something. I don’t get out much. Too busy.” Nefyn turned on his heel and went to the safe. “Guns aren’t my favorite, but it’s practical to have one if you’re getting shot at. I’m putting mine in here because I don’t like what happens when they’re in the hands of amateurs. Amateurs who are going through a lot of inner turmoil and might briefly, understandably really, try to do something very stupid. You know?”

Charles’ throat went dry. “Yeah.”

“You’re not allowed to hurt anybody currently in this room, Charles. Anybody.” Nefyn knelt and didn’t let Charles see what code he was setting in order to stash his gun. He even unloaded it before stashing it inside. 

“Understood.” Thankfully, Charles had only been feeling a combination of numbness and nervous preoccupation with his immediate future. 

“Also no contacting anyone else without permission, unless I’m dead or unconscious and you need to take my phone to call the fire department or an ambulance to literally prevent more death.”

“I wasn’t allowed to bring my phone.” Though he’d been promised he’d probably get it back once “everything was settled”.

“It’s nothing personal, just due diligence.” Nefyn put the knife back where it came from. Seriously, Charles couldn’t follow it. He darted over to the landline phone sitting on the kitchenette counter, disconnected it, and added it to the safe. 

Desperate not to like this boy so much, Charles asked, “Is that what you say to them?”

“Who?” Nefyn clicked the safe shut and took a seat at the dining table, leaning forward on his elbows with his clasped hands resting on the laminate surface.

“The people you kill.” _Nothing personal. Just due diligence._

Nefyn didn’t bat an eye. “I actually haven’t killed many people yet, but no.”

 _Yet._ Charles decided not to push it. 

“If you don’t mind, I have homework. I don’t mind TV noises if they’re not super loud. Or typewriter keys clacking, if that’s your jam.” 

Then there was a knock on the door. Nefyn ran over to look at the peephole, then knocked back in an unusual rhythm. There was a return knock in another rhythm. He opened the door to reveal the blonde from earlier, who had two paper sacks full of food. “How’s it going?” she asked, handing it over.

“Fine, we were just getting introduced. I already made tonight’s dinner, by the way, all you need to do is remove it from the crock pot. Someone can make a side salad if you want.”

“Lovely.” She bent down to kiss him on the cheek. Even when you discounted the heels on her boots, she had at least an inch on him. 

Charles decided to help with the groceries, though he went slowly so they wouldn’t think he was trying to bolt. “I can carry one.”

Nefyn passed one along. The blonde cocked her head and pointed at Charles. “Hey, Kerouac, your life isn’t over, okay? It doesn’t need to be.”

“Kerouac?” Nefyn asked Charles when she was gone and they were putting the food away.

“A poet. Why’d she say that?”

“Oh, Zsasz was going to kill her back in the day, along with the rest of her team, but she switched sides at the last second. They didn’t respect her identity. Bullied her for it.” Nefyn put the final yogurt in the refrigerator and went to sit at the dining table with a quickly rinsed apple in one hand. 

It took a moment for everything to click. Cautious hope crept in. “Zsasz doesn’t care?”

“He says she knows her own gender and name and it’d be stupid to argue, as stupid as if someone told him no, he wasn’t a man named Victor. Besides, he noticed right away how capable she is.” With his free hand, Nefyn took another knife, not the one on his belt, from somewhere unseen under the table. It folded outwards like very small shears. He started twirling it like some people might twirl a pencil. He didn’t act like this was any form of threat, just something to do for fun. He took a bite out of the apple.

“You don’t care?”

“Why would I?”

“Well, some people would.” Like his mother, who’d say it was bizarre and disgusting. Charles felt a twist in his stomach. 

The twirling stopped. “Are you saying you do?” 

“No! God, no! It’s none of my business!” 

Nefyn beamed. He started twirling and eating again in a ballet of fruit and blade. “She’s gotten a lot more confident in the past year. It’s been wonderful to see her accept herself and go for what she really wants. You know?”

His soul felt entirely too wrung out to analyze that any further. “I suppose?”

“You should try one of these. They’re good. I could give you a slice if you’re not ready to start on a whole one right now.” 

“Maybe later. Thank you.” Charles fetched his research notes and what pages he had so far of his manuscript, along with the blank paper he’d packed as well. He needed to lose himself for a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

“What are you studying?” Charles asked when he finally looked up from his draft and saw Nefyn with a textbook and spiral-bound notebook full of scribbles.

Nefyn didn’t look up. “It’s for an evening class on the justice system at the community college. Easier to beat things you understand.”

Suddenly Charles couldn’t breathe. He got up, entered the bathroom, locked the door behind him, lay down on the floor, and started crying.

It was absurd. He hadn’t cried when they were killed. He hadn’t cried when told he was being kicked out of the house and almost certainly disinherited. He hadn’t cried when he was handed over to thugs (albeit surprisingly friendly thugs).

The thing was: Sasha, all her life, had wanted to study criminal law one day. Mother had discouraged it - expensive, difficult, unfeminine. That hadn’t quashed her ambition. And now it was never going to happen. There had been a long list of things he didn’t like about Sasha, though not nearly as long as Mother’s, but he’d still loved both of them. 

While hastily packing, he’d allowed himself to think about the freedom this meant. No more time on tenterhooks, no more dreading disapproval, no more visions of Mother being shocked and angry or Sasha teasing him. Now he was disgusted with himself. It was understandable to be glad to be alive. How could he have dared to be happy in any way that they were dead?

The sobs just got uglier, making him sudder and curl in on himself to try not to make so much pathetic noise. He grabbed toilet paper to blow his nose before he suffocated. 

He should have persuaded them to give up the plan. Or maybe if he’d said something earlier, they’d be behind bars but alive. Maybe if he’d kept his mouth shut when he learned Oswald’s occupation. Maybe -

Nefyn knocked and said, “I’m not allowed to leave you alone in there for more than ten minutes. You don’t have to interact with me, just open the door.”

“Go away,” Charles said weakly. Right now it was hard to care about potential consequences of refusal.

The door clicked open. Nefyn had a bent paperclip in one hand. “Wanted to give you a chance to cooperate on your own.”

Charles sat up and did his best to look indignant. That was better than looking miserable. “I guess I shouldn’t expect you to be able to imagine what this is like for me.”

Hand tightening around the paperclip, Nefyn said quietly, “My mother was shot to death in front of me when I was seven. So actually, yeah, I can imagine it.”

For a stretched-out, agonized pause, Charles sat frozen and Nefyn stood stone-faced. Then Charles rubbed his eyes and said, “Sorry. That was...harsh.”

“Apology accepted.” Nefyn came closer and knelt down next to him. For a wild moment, Charles thought (fine, hoped, yes, hoped, he admitted it, FINE) that Nefyn was about to kiss him. Instead, though, he held out a hand to help Charles up. “You should eat something.”

Charles shakily got to his feet with the assistance. He tossed the scrunched toilet paper into the wastebasket. “I don’t really want food.”

“Do you want a hug?”

Said in a different tone of voice, that could have been the worst mockery possible. Said in that tone of voice, Charles had to restrain himself from bursting into tears again and clinging. He settled for nodding. His stepfather had patted him on the back in a gesture of goodwill at the end of their chat, but nobody had hugged him. 

“How are you so nice and still want to get into that business?” Charles mumbled into Nefyn’s shoulder.

“Because I don’t believe there’s really any justice,” Nefyn said, squeezing. “Also I enjoy both hugging and stabbing. I’m sure it’s a whole complicated mess in my head leading to that, no need to point it out.”

“Would you kill me right now if Zsasz told you to?”

“If I knew hugs would make you so morbid, maybe I wouldn’t have offered.” Nefyn let go and headed for the kitchenette.

Charles followed. “Sorry.”

“That was more teasing. Not actually offended. Yes, I would. By participating in scheming against a member of the underworld, you’ve automatically become one yourself. Fair game for us. Personally, I don’t want to off someone I know has sole custody of a child, either, unless in defense. I’m uncomfortable with orphaning. A lot of us have exceptions like that. Not killing children is common, or at least babies. It’s accepted that sometimes you might kill a teenager because they’re in the way or it’s hard to tell, but in our family there’s no deliberate contracts on under-18.”

“Oh.” 

Nefyn took out two of the cup noodles they’d put away earlier and found a chipped mug in one of the cupboards, which he filled with tap water. “I would be sad if it was you, though. I’d make sure you hardly felt a thing, if you felt anything. I’d do it by surprise. You wouldn’t have time to feel any fear, either.”

“Ah.” That was slightly sweet in an extremely weird way. (With the disturbing thought that it was also just a tiny bit _hot_. Huh?) Charles slumped into a chair.

“I don’t believe there’s really justice. There’s kindness. You okay with ramen? Closest thing to chicken soup I can do for you. You don’t have a cold, but chicken soup is comforting. At least for me.” Nefyn stuck the mug in the microwave and turned it on.

“It’s okay.” 

Nefyn ate with chopsticks and drank the broth straight from the cup. Charles used a fork and spoon. Trying to fill the silence, he remarked upon Nefyn’s chopstick prowess.

“One of the Zsaszettes is second-generation Korean-American, and she taught me,” Nefyn explained. 

“I imagine you’re pretty dextrous already?” Why was he squeaking and adding an unnecessary question mark?

“Mm hm,” Nefyn said, sounding pleased. Ugh. Why? 

Charles deliberately wrote a very unsexy scene while Nefyn had more dinner and then did more homework. Nefyn complimented Charles’ typing speed and asked how accurate he was, but otherwise remained quiet. Charles was startled out of his reverie when Nefyn dramatically closed his textbook and cracked his knuckles. 

“What?”

“I haven’t filled my exercise quota for today. Only did a run this morning. Mind if I turn on something bland as background noise? You can do what you like as long as you don’t lock the bathroom door again, please. And let me change into workout clothes first.” 

After less than five minutes alone in the bathroom, Nefyn emerged barefoot in a cornflower blue tank top and black track pants. He also had seven knives of varying sizes, some barely larger than darts, along with matching holsters, sheaths, and straps.

“Where were you keeping all that?” Charles asked, boggled. 

Nefyn crouched to put everything in the safe. “Trade secret.”

Charles ended up on the couch, listlessly putting grapes in his mouth while watching the low-key cooking show Nefyn had found in his brief channel surfing. Nefyn did several rounds push-ups, squats, lunges, and planks before capping it off with…

“Is that stretching or yoga?” It was seriously bendy, whichever it was.

“Yoga. I’m experimenting with it for mental health as well as flexibility, though right now it’s just some cool-down poses.” 

The commercial was showing a happy family, so Charles turned off the TV. He needed a non-arousing distraction right this second. “If you don’t mind me asking, why blue?”

“You mean my clothes?” Nefyn flopped onto the carpet. “I’ve got the rarer, most severe form of red-green colorblindness. Means blue is the only color, unless you count black and white, that I know I’m correctly identifying. Yellow and brown could be all sorts of things. Blue’s like, like, a gorgeous beacon. I can pick it out really easily, too. I wish I had blue eyes.”

 _I like your green eyes._ Charles deflected, “I’d express sympathy, but the decor in here makes me envy you.”

Nefyn laughed. “Is it bad?”

“Maybe the decorator had your condition. That would explain it.” He managed a manly chuckle. 

Five minutes was all Nefyn said he needed for a shower, and he emerged in ten minutes total with his hair slightly damp and in an oversize black t-shirt. And two more knives to put away. And nothing below his waist except navy blue boxers with little white anchors printed on them. 

Wanting to cry out of frustration was a more familiar emotion than wanting to cry from grief, at least. “Are you retiring?”

“I might read a chapter of something light, but more or less. I brushed my teeth already. Can I take one of the blankets on the bed to the couch with me? Don’t tell me you’re going to take the couch. You’re going to have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.” 

Soon Nefyn had settled down in a sofa-based nest with a copy of a book called _Feet of Clay_ (“a murder mystery involving golems and humor,”) and Charles was alone in bed less contentedly rereading _Howl_. Because even though Candy had been embarrassingly nearly right, Charles preferred Ginsberg to Kerouac. 

Also, he wanted to wallow in angst. _I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness…_

Despite the material not exactly being restful, Charles fell asleep still holding the book. He had a nightmare about Oswald butchering him and Sasha, then cooking and serving them to their mother as a roast. Edward barged in to indignantly tell “the audience”, consisting of disembodied Ghost Charles, that while Oswald might well trick someone into thinking they’d eaten their offspring, he’d never actually engage in cannibalism. He then added that nobody could possibly butcher and cook a human to perfection like that in so little time. Oswald paid no attention to this defense of his character and evaluation of his skills. He just stabbed Mother in the neck while she wailed in horror. 

Charles woke covered in sweat and badly craving the soothing effects of a smoke. For two years he’d carefully hidden his occasional habit, a handful of times a month at most, but he’d fished out the three-quarter pack from his sock drawer and stuffed it in his valise before leaving home, along with a miniature box of safety matches. 

There was a combination lock keeping the bolt on the hotel room door shut, which Nefyn must have put there at some point. Charles wouldn’t have risked defiance anyway. Where would he have gone? There wasn’t a balcony, so he cracked open the window next to the bed. Just a few drags to calm him. He hadn’t seen any NO SMOKING signs, so an alarm probably wouldn’t go off. 

Moments after lighting up, Charles heard Nefyn drowsily but distinctly panicking. “No, no, please, I won’t do it again!”

Concerned, Charles approached him with the cigarette still in hand. He flicked on a light. “Nightmare?”

Nefyn’s eyes were wide and darted around as he clutched at the blanket. A few blinks and the fog cleared. His eyes narrowed. “Put that fucking thing out right the fuck now.”

With his own measure of panic, Charles lost hold of all his brain cells and simply threw it to the floor and stamped it out like he was stomping on a bug. Nefyn stopped acting angry, but he was still clutching at the blanket and breathing with the deliberate slowness of someone who’s inclined to be hyperventilating.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles whispered. “Can I help? What’s wrong?”

Nefyn switched on the lamp next to the couch. “I thought I was past this. I guess I’ve been thinking too much about fucked-up families, plus I don’t normally deal with cigarette smoke indoors these days.”

“I’m really sorry.” He was dying to ask for details, but he didn’t think that would be helpful. “Would you, uh, like a glass of water?”

Nefyn nodded, and gulped down a lot of it when Charles gave it to him. He put it down and regarded Charles for a moment before coming to a decision. 

“After Mom died, I lived with people who didn’t like me,” he said. Then he took off his shirt. His entire torso was covered with tiny faded scars. All of them about the same diameter as the end of a cigarette. He looked and sounded more human, more real, than ever before. 

Clearly not having recovered any of his brain cells, Charles automatically reached out to touch one of the scars. Right when Charles realized what he was doing and started to freak out, Nefyn _leaned into_ the touch.

It was an extremely nice torso too, regardless of tragedy, and that was all kinds of awkward. “Um…”

“Sit. Please.”

Charles did. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Touch him again? Put them into his own lap? Slap some sense into himself? Nefyn was looking at him. Charles gave up and kissed him. More of a peck, really, because he didn’t know how to do anything else 

Nefyn pulled away, but not to recoil. It was to roll his eyes and say, “Finally!”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“If I’d made the first move, how’d I know you weren’t accepting out of intimidation? Had to be your call.” Nefyn pressed their lips together again, his touches coaxing Charles’ mouth open and his eyes closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even if it meant a shorter chapter, I thought it'd be nice to post on Valentine's day. ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

This wasn’t Charles’ first kiss. That had been with a girl after a high school dance, and only because he felt it was expected. It hadn’t been terrible or anything. It had been forgettable. Safe.

This, on the other hand, was Charles’ first _being kissed and kissing back_ , a distinction he hadn’t known existed. Nefyn kissed slowly but insistently, persistently, like the lapping waves of an incoming tide. He gradually pulled their bodies closer until much of his beautiful, terribly wronged bare skin was flush against the M.C. Escher t-shirt Charles had brought with him to exile. Charles tentatively put a hand on either side of the slight taper of his waist - not a curve, just a narrowing - and hoped he hadn’t imagined the tiny noise of approval.

After an unmeasured amount of time, Nefyn put a hand on Charles’ cheek and the other on one shoulder before pulling back again. “We’re getting hot and bothered, so we need to hash some stuff out.”

“Whatever you want, I’m up for it.” That sounded too needy for dignity. Sigh.

“Not good enough.” Nefyn paused for a moment, choosing his words. “I have four ongoing sexual and/or BDSM partners, as well as occasional more casual encounters. All genders considered. I use protection for all situations where something goes inside something else. Unless you count tongues in mouths, I guess. My test results last month-ish say I’m clean. I won’t do anything with pain or restraints the first few times with someone new. No rimming or hot wax, ever. I want out of my head and my fingers on - possibly in - you. Your turn.”

Brain latching on to the least relevant but most dramatic thing, Charles said, “Wait. Wait. Is one of those four people…”

“Saying his name isn’t going to summon him,” Nefyn prompted with a wry twist to his mouth. “That a deal-breaker?”

“If he’s going to be angry, it is!”

“He’s the one who shoved condoms and lube at me before I came in here. Oh, you’re blushing, it’s lovely. I don’t get out much, and everyone I’m regularly with with has a...strong personality, you might say. And that’s fun, but sometimes I wanna just take _care_ of someone, and I think he thinks you’re the type I’d enjoy doing that with. Okay? Now you gotta give me some detail before the next step.”

Charles felt his heart pounding. How was talking scarier than doing? “What we’ve done already is more than I’ve ever done before. I don’t know what I want. Except more than this.”

“Mm. Consent isn’t a blanket thing, you know. If you don’t want to do something, tell me. We won’t do it. I won’t be mad.” There was a quiet vehemence to that which made Charles wonder.

“Okay,” Charles said.

Nefyn smiled. “Bed?”

“Please.” He was already so aroused it bordered on hurting. Even if he was scared. Or maybe...because.

“You get on the bed. I’ll grab some stuff and be with you in sec.” Nefyn leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.

***

Nefyn went to his bag and pulled out the condoms and mini lube bottle. Then he took a few deep breaths like Dr. Kali had taught him. Centered himself.

Nothing to tell the past to fuck off like fucking, as long as it wasn’t the kind that brought even more of the past. He especially didn’t want to think about any other bad experiences when his brain had just spent a few minutes back in his aunt and uncle’s basement, without one of his Doms to keep him safe and here and now.

He was pretty sure he was the only person in history to feel _safer_ when tied up by Victor. (Victor preferred his first name in the bedroom.) Even Leonara said it was more of a danger thrill for her each time she played sub to Victor rather than fierce equal, like playing with a tamed but not domesticated wolf. Maybe Victor enjoyed having someone relatively innocent compared to himself to look after, too. Regardless, Nefyn was looking forward to this and everything, very much so. He just hoped Charles wouldn’t see how it made him slightly nervous to be in charge.

“Hey there, buddy.” Nefyn did his best to balance cheeky confidence with warm concern. Everything Nefyn was carrying was something he’d been carrying for a long time. The feelings Charles was running from were from fresher wounds.

Charles was sitting against the headboard with the blankets wrapped around him, the slightest glimpse of his shoulders visible but nothing lower. He’d turned on the lamp and watched Nefyn place Zsasz’s donated supplies as well as some water and a washcloth in easy reach. “...Hi?”

Saying any variant of ‘bless’ would strike the wrong note. “May I enter the cocoon? You cold?”

“Yeah. It’s just - I took my shirt off too, ‘cause I figured it was fair, since, since you don’t have a shirt on either, and you weren’t here yet, so I. Uh. Got cold.” He erupted into a slightly askew kiss, throwing the blankets aside. Points for enthusiasm.

Nefyn slid his right hand down from his eager initiate’s stomach to under the waistband of his plain white briefs, giving him plenty of time to make any signals of refusal. Charles whimpered the moment Nefyn reached his cock. He didn’t wrap his hand around it. He traced the contours of it and oh, this boy was so sensitive, such a shudder and tiny bitten-back sound from nothing but this.

“I can jerk someone off without looking, I can and have done it half-asleep and blindfolded and with all sorts of other handicaps, but I’d really like to see you, Charles. May I?” The moment he got a nod, Nefyn pushed Charles on his back and eased that last bit of concealing cloth off him.

“I don’t really know how that...compares,” Charles said breathlessly.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn, and never really do.” Nefyn didn’t have an aesthetic preference when it came to circumcised vs. not, but he was always pleased to find an extra bit of surface area to tease. He lightly closed four fingers around the blood-darkened shaft, making use of the bead of precum to ease the slide of thumb on foreskin. No endgame yet. Exploring.

He watched Charles’ face, those rapid blinks, and also how he had one hand gripping the blanket and another reaching for Nefyn’s left. Nefyn was about to reach back but switched gears first. Charles made a wordless question mark in the back of his throat when Nefyn let go. He tried to sit up on his elbows to see what Nefyn was doing.

Nefyn uncapped the lube bottle. “Stay. You’ll get a chance to pay me back, but I get sleepy and stupid after I come. First I want to focus entirely on your sexual debut going well. I assume you get yourself off sometimes, but have you ever fingered yourself?”

“No. I felt so awkward about it. Like, if someone walked in on ‘normal’ stuff, that would be one thing, but...”

“That makes sense. May I? Starting super slow and you can change your mind.”

Charles didn’t even think about it. “Yes. I want to try.”

Nefyn didn’t have a glove, so he tore open one of the condom packets to act as stretchy finger sheath. “I want to keep watching your face, but if you put a pillow under your hips it’ll make the angle easier for me. Once I’m more into the groove - heh -”

“You’re terrible.”

“Yep! Anyway, then I’ll come down and pay attention to the rest of you. Backseat driving is highly encouraged, by the way.” So: right index finger condom-ed and condom itself given a bit of extra slick, left hand lightly drizzled as well to help with friction. Nefyn started off with an unhurried, conventional handjob to get Charles to relax and shed some of his inhibitions. “I think a lot of how people think about ‘losing virginity’ is bullshit, but it’s an honor to help you try something new, pretty-when-flustered.”

****

If Charles really was pretty when flustered, he had to be the prettiest person within blocks right now, right as Nefyn was horribly and gorgeously frustrating him with one hand and about to touch him in a way that nobody ever had, in a way he’d been so ashamed of wanting for years. He knew this was something that was going to feel weird at first but could feel good, very good, if someone knew what they were doing. And Nefyn had to know what he was doing.

The first finger felt really. Really. Weird. It didn’t hurt, as slippery as it was, but his surprised muscles needed a moment to accept this as part of a deliberate plan. “How many are you going to do?”

“Two’s usually been enough for me, on myself or otherwise. This isn’t preparing you for anything other than a second finger.” Nefyn was concentrating so hard that the tip of his tongue was sticking out of one corner of his mouth. It took another portion of self-control to keep from yanking Nefyn on top of him and doing his best to steal that tongue for himself.

“Next one.”

“Your command is my wish.” Nefyn had to pull out part of the way to get his second finger into the condom, which felt strange but also oddly good. Pushing in the added width hurt a smidgen until Charles willed himself to stay slack. The distraction from his dick was helping too.

Nefyn had to feel his way a bit, fingers crooked, before he brushed the. The. Oh. No wonder this was something people used to be willing to go to jail for. Sparks behind his eyes and touching wires together and ohhhh.

“More, please,” Charles hissed, and there was more, and both of Nefyn’s hands sped up. Fuck self-control, he wasn’t going to wait for Nefyn to decide when Charles was ready to have all of him against him again. He wrapped his legs around Nefyn, and throwing all caution to the wind, he pulled him down by the hair (though he did not yank).

The rhythm faltered for a moment, but Nefyn didn’t stop. He was still partially propped up on his knees to make the fingering feasible. “Nice to know I’m doing well.”

“Kiss me, please.”

“Make me.”

Charles did. The angle really was odd now, much akimbo-limb and uncomfortable twisting going on as well as Charles’ tiring neck and abdominal muscles from meeting Nefyn a quarter-way. Charles didn’t care. Nefyn also started grinding against him, growl-moans and shivers so graceless that they looped back around to their own kind of graceful.

 _If this was some elaborate pitying ruse before you kill me, I’m not sure I mind,_ Charles thought, and let the world stutter around him as he came.

Nefyn pulled out of him and turned the condom inside out before chucking it into the tiny wastebasket several feet away. Over his shoulder. Without looking.

“How?” Charles mumbled, too warm and tired to clarify.

“I’ve become pretty good at remembering where things were the last time I saw them,” Nefyn said. He poured a bit of water onto the washcloth and started wiping up the mess Charles had made on himself. “Also it makes for a fun post-coital trick.”

Charles snatched the washcloth. “You should take _your_ underwear off now. I can see almost everything anyway.”

“I’m almost there, truth be told,” Nefyn agreed with good humor. He tugged down his shorts. And revealed that he still had one more knife on him, a tiny one with a bright blue sheath and blue handle strapped to his upper leg with black tape.

“Seriously?” Charles asked, gesturing.

“I only go completely unarmed when I’m at home,” Nefyn said matter-of-factly. “It’s a kind of tape that only sticks to itself. Everything is ceramic or plastic and won’t set off metal detectors. From a custom weapons shop in the Narrows. You’re getting slightly hard again, lovely. That’s extremely interesting.”

Dammit. Might as well roll with it. “Oh...uh…can...can I suck you off?”

Nefyn lay back down on the bed, on his side, and folded the washcloth clean-side-out. “I’m too tired to teach you, but thank you. No, I just want kissing and hands from you. Touch me like you’d touch yourself and I’ll tell you how to modify it.” He rolled over, put a condom on himself (to simplify cleanup, he said), then rolled back around. He grinned and beckoned.

It took about thirty seconds to get Nefyn to come. Charles hoped to do a larger share of the work next time, but Nefyn insisted that all he wanted was some cuddling now.

“Sleep in here with me,” Charles said as they got comfortable and pulled the blankets over them.

“I sometimes make noise or flail from nightmares,” Nefyn warned, but it wasn’t a no.

“Then I’ll wake you up.” Charles turned out the light.

***

Nefyn dreamed of when he got caught kissing a boy and his aunt and uncle gave him twenty minutes to pack. Except this time, his unarmed and terrified thirteen-year-old self got to hide behind his heavily armed twenty-year-old self. Still a stressful dream, but it was okay in the end.

Zsasz was three feet away from the bed when Nefyn cracked one eye open. Nefyn was already grasping his knife and ready to tear it free, exactly like the drills. As expected from a civilian, Charles didn’t wake from Zsasz creepily creeping in to creep on them. _Puppies gotta stay on their toes,_ Zsasz always said after randomly appearing behind him when Nefyn thought he was alone. The Zsaszettes had agreed to pay Nefyn fifty bucks - each - if he could ever sneak up on the boss. No payout yet.

Silent thumbs-up and a leer. Nefyn waved him away. If it was important for him to get up now, Zsasz’s body language would be different. All he got was a silent laugh and departure. Nefyn snuggled in closer to Charles and went back to sleep.

***

“These are real good, Olga. Like my bubbe used to make before she got forgetful,” Zsasz told Olga. She’d set him down in the front parlor with a cup of coffee (after he'd expressed a preference) and a plate of cookie thingies Zsasz couldn’t remember the name of, though he could remember tasting something similar.

She made a noise he honestly couldn’t tell was appreciative or dismissive. “Is not Russian, is Hungarian, but Mr. Van Dahl likes. Goulash, too. And paprika in too much. You say ‘bubbe’ - Jewish?”

“She is. I'm not particularly, no matter how much she tries to make me feel guilty about it.” He hadn’t visited her in awhile. He should get on that. She kept making and sending hand-knit balaclavas for him and the crew despite his repeated reminders that they didn’t rob banks. “Is Mr. Van Dahl around?”

“Ed decided he needed some fresh air and convinced him to go play chess in the park,” Penguin said, limping towards them with extra weight on his cane. Olga took this as her cue to leave, which was a shame. He bet she knew all sorts of hilarious gossip about the Overwrought Mansion. He liked how unflappable she was too, how she'd probably been sizing him up. Never underestimate "the help", especially when the help provided has included covering up a dramatic response to attempted murder.

Zsasz got to his feet in case Penguin needed help with the more mundane business of getting across the room, but he insisted on making his way to his chair on his own. He was dressed in one of his usual suits, so he couldn’t have been feeling that awful, but on the other hand he was missing his cufflinks. Gasp.

“What a nice son-in-law-to-be,” Zsasz said as he sat back down. He actually meant it, funny enough. It was cute (and amusing) how the new power couple mooned over each other.

“I have another job for you, and however many of your people you think necessary,” Penguin said, gripping his cane in a way that suggested he was in pain but didn’t want to show it. “First, though, how’s Charles?”

“In one piece.”

“Good. State of mind?”

“I didn’t interview him, but he was in bed with the most adorable guy I’ve ever hired, so probably reasonably good. You’re welcome.”

Penguin looked like he’d had a glass of cold water dumped over his head. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t see a need to dance around it like some people. You want him to be a useful asset, or at least not turn into some two-bit nemesis, he needs to be in a reasonably good mood, right? And your Edward said he wished your step-bro didn’t have a crush on you, because jealousy and also kiiiiinda gross. Not outright, but that was what he meant. I don’t think Charles does anymore.” Zsasz sipped his coffee. Daintily. He could daint with the best of them.

It took a few seconds for Penguin to collect himself, but collect he did. “Be that as it may, Charles needs to stay under your...care...for a few additional days at minimum, possibly more. Is your employee going to be compromised?”

“No,” Zsasz said flatly.

Penguin gave one of his thin smiles, thin despite some teeth showing. “I don’t mean to question your hiring practices. I know Falcone gave you total autonomy.”

“You do, too.” _We have no problem taking our ball and going home, little man. You need us more than we need you._

“I’m saying, human nature being such as it is…even though Charles doesn’t seem inclined to cause trouble, if one of the people guarding him gets too fond of him, we have a problem.”

Zsasz put his teacup down with an audible clink. “Let me tell you something about this young man. Last year we staged an abduction to test him. Kept him blindfolded so he didn’t know it was us. Tried to get him to ‘betray’ us. Used his worst fears against him. He didn’t say a thing. Literally, not a thing. Not words, anyway.”

It had been part of a training exercise, a rite of passage for all puppies. They hadn’t literally burned him with cigarettes. Their doctor had come up with a system of lighting cigarettes for the smell, then lightly touching him with dry ice while searing pieces of meat on a nearby hot plate. Hadn’t wanted to give the puppy more scars. She advised them to switch gears after his sobbing reached critical levels. They were all very gentle with him for weeks afterwards.

“I don’t mean to cast aspersions,” Penguin said in his most diplomatic voice.

“How’d you feel if I suggested your fiance was going to betray you? Not that I’m really into the falling-in-love thing, but...”

Penguin looked thoughtful at the implications. Zsasz had shown more of his hand than he was generally chill with doing, but then again, Penguin had been there when Butch shot Jane. He’d seen the look in Zsasz’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Zsasz smiled and rubbed his hands together. “So, new job?”


	4. Chapter 4

Charles woke to the sound of the microwave. He sat up and blinked blearily before poking his head out of the bed alcove. Nefyn was in black bootcut jeans and apparently nothing else, unless you counted his bright blue hair tie and probably, like, eight knives somehow concealed on his person in addition to the folding one sticking out of his front right pocket. He smiled and waved. On impulse, Charles made his way over, barefoot, to tuck a stray strand of dark hair behind his ear. His scars were easier to see, but they also seemed more integrated and lived-in and less like horrible blots. 

“Someone’s more friendly this afternoon.” He put an arm around Charles’ waist for a brief squeeze.

The two takeout food containers orbited each other like cardboard twin moons. “I’m not very experienced, but I like to think that maybe losing my virginity to you might break the ice.” 

Nefyn let go and tutted. “I don’t like that expression. Let’s say you made your sexual debut with me. I ordered Thai, hope that’s okay. It arrived lukewarm.”

“That’s fine, but there’s a Thai restaurant in the Narrows?” Charles realized that the Narrows might not be entirely the squalid hive of villainy he’d always imagined it, given the reasonably decent quality of their accommodations, but that was a bit far. 

“The underworld eats too, you know. Some of an ex-Zsaszette’s family runs it. She has a custom weapons shop in the basement. Legal weapons only, but very good. Got my ceramic knife from her. Everyone knows that building is under our protection.” The microwave dinged and Nefyn moved both boxes to the table. “It’s the one restaurant I’m allowed to directly order from while we’re here, since Mr. Zsasz trusts them. I decided this was a special occasion.”

Right, Charles was technically a prisoner. He’d forgotten. “Is there coffee?” he asked faintly.

“There’s some instant, plus sugar packets.” Nefyn dove right into his chicken satay. “Pardon my manners, but I worked out a bit while you were still asleep. Worked up an appetite. I could teach you the more gentle routine I do when I’m banged-up or exhausted. Cabin fever sucks.”

“You know cabin fever well?” Charles could really go for a French press right now, but under the circumstances he was lucky to have coffee at all. 

“I’ve done time. I don’t like to brag.” Nefyn liberally coated the meat skewer in peanut sauce and licked a long lengthwise stripe from hilt to tip.

Charles knew he was blushing, but managed to roll his eyes sardonically as well. “Was it for being an insufferable tease?”

Nefyn’s smile turned bittersweet. “They said it was felonious assault. That’s around when I stopped believing in justice.”

Any further was deeper than Charles was prepared to dive. He started on the Pad Thai, grateful to be having cuisine he didn’t associate with any family members, just high school friends he’d drifted apart from. “You’re being very open with me.”

Nefyn looked Charles up and down. “Speaking of: are you kinky? Do you know?”

Charles shrugged helplessly. “I don’t even know if I’d prefer physically being on top or not.” He suspected he might find danger sexy, but he didn’t want to say so until he had a better idea. 

“If you want to find out, we can take turns. Napkin?” He passed one over.

“Thank you.” Charles drank far too much hot coffee in one gulp. “Uh, what you said, that could be cool, but, uh, no attempts with...props. Please.”

Nefyn reached over and patted his arm. “Dude, I’m a sub, and having to tell someone how to do shit would be frustrating. No thanks.”

“That’s the person who likes being…” Charles didn’t have the vocabulary for more, even if the general concept wasn’t completely foreign. Libraries were better than nothing.

“The person who likes being _done to_ rather than the person who likes _doing_ , if you want to seriously simplify it. Not all the apprentices have liked sex with the others, or liked sex at all, but my partners have managed to incorporate it into my training a bit. ‘If you can get out of these chains in less than five minutes you get to come tonight, after we get you in something you definitely can’t get out of.’ That’s a fun multitask. I won’t go into a lot of detail because this involves other people’s privacy, but you get the idea.” Nefyn took a few more bites before adding, “Teaching someone basic sex things, though, that’s fun. Want to learn the mysterious ways of the blowjob after you eat and shower?”

Charles started eating so fast that Nefyn warned him not to choke, as there would be enough trying not to choke later on. 

While showering, though, more thoughts of Mother and Sasha pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind. Warning the murder targets, now that was a noble thing to do. They’d only ever been kind to him. Jury was out on whether it had been stupid or not, though Edward’s backhanded reassurance that Charles actually hadn’t saved anyone except himself was a comfort. Lying to the police so that nobody would be punished for his mother and sister’s deaths, on the other hand…

A knock on the bathroom door and Nefyn entered, exactly as clothed as he’d been earlier. “You’ve been alone in here for ten minutes. I have to check on you.”

Charles turned off the water. It was nothing Nefyn hadn’t seen. “I didn’t think it had been that long.”

“Got lost in your head?”

“Mm.” Charles rubbed his face with his hands. “I feel guilty.”

“Your feelings are your own and you have every right to them. If you don’t want me to touch you, all you need to do is say so. But I would like to point out that refraining from fooling around with me is not actually going to benefit anyone, living or dead.” 

The beginnings of an erection prompted Charles to actually do something about it. Nefyn watched him with flattering intensity as he dried himself off. Charles couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m not in my comfort zone, Nefyn, just my, my want zone. I haven’t even seen any videos. A few still images, that’s all.” 

“Don’t put on any clothes, then, and sit on the couch. You’ll be able to see what I’m doing better.” Nefyn waited until Charles hung up the towel again before gathering him into his arms and kissing his forehead. “Maybe a chapter in your life is over, buddy, but your life isn’t, okay?”

“Okay,” Charles murmured, kissing his neck. Then he giggled despite himself when Nefyn patted his butt. They kissed mutually and with increasing fierceness as they inefficiently made their way to the couch.

Charles felt slightly self-conscious as he settled on the couch. Nefyn knelt on the ugly carpet and nudged Charles’ legs apart. Taking a condom from the pack he’d placed on the coffee table and tearing off the wrapper, Nefyn commented, “A depressing number of people don’t know they should pinch the tip to create a little reservoir.”

“I can confirm I didn’t know that,” Charles said, his voice higher in his ears than usual. His natural instinct when this incredibly aroused was to hide and rub his hard-on back to normalcy as quickly as possible, but he managed to stay still and let Nefyn slide the latex over it. 

Nefyn spoke in a detached, informative way, but the smile in his eyes that suggested some of it was yet another way of being a tease. He placed his open-carry knife on the coffee table. “I’m very experienced, so I’m naturally going to be able to get you in deeper than you will be able to be. That’s fine. Don’t obsess over that. I’m not submitting to you, so don’t grip my hair. You may put your hands on my shoulders or hold my left hand if it’s free. Tell me things like ‘harder’ or ‘to the left’ or ‘ow, teeth!’ so I don’t have to check in.”

“G-got it.” Wait, did Zsasz and the Zsaszettes have keys to the room? Might they walk in any moment? Nefyn must have some system in place, right?

He stopped thinking about it the moment Nefyn engulfed him. He couldn’t think of a better word than that. Even through the thin barrier, Charles felt such wet, all-surrounding warmth that he bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping and coming within seconds. It was like when he’d first discovered masturbation, but more so. 

There was one flaw, though, even if it was more uncomfortable than painful. “Teeth!” His fault for squirming suddenly, but Nefyn had asked to be notified. 

Nefyn made an apologetic noise and slackened his jaw. He also started squeezing the base of Charles’ cock and caressing his sac, which is something it had never occurred to him anyone might do, and oh god it had been only a few minutes but Charles was undone.

Charles didn’t do anything so dramatic as black out, but he found himself weak and incoherent enough that Nefyn arranging Charles lengthwise into a more easily cuddled pose felt like it was happening to someone else. The bulge in Nefyn’s pants was obvious, but Nefyn just pressed Charles between himself and the back of the sofa. He played with his hair while Charles was collecting his powers of speech.

“Thank you,” Charles said, wishing he could burrow his whole body into the other boy without injuring either of them.

“I’m not fond of virginity of being fetishized, but I hadn’t realized virgins could be so cute, either.” Nefyn chuckled at Charles’ expression, whatever it was. “When you’re ready, I’d like it if you took my pants off for me. I have this, uh, ongoing contract going on, where if I’m already in my underwear I can take it off anytime, but I’m not allowed to take off my own pants for sexual reasons. Or get myself off unless I have an interested audience.”

A sudden wicked impulse lit up in Charles’ mind. He put his hand on Nefyn’s crotch and felt the strain there. He was rewarded with the quietest of hisses. “Because you’re too sweet to waste?”

“S-something like that...mm...” 

Charles kissed his lips very softly. “I guess there has to be enough left for so many people to get a decent-sized piece of you. I appreciate the others being willing to share.”

Now Nefyn was blushing. Not much, the faintest flush around the base of his neck that would have been hidden under a shirt, but if Charles could have taken a bite out if him without hurting him he would have. Not to eat. To keep, in some undefinable way. “A lot of people think BDSM is all one thing, and they think it’s about bondage and pain, and it can be. Sometimes it’s not, though. D/S by itself, domming and subbing without all that? It’s about power. It’s in the mind. You sound like you might be into that, now that you’re spreading your wings a tiny bit.”

“I bullied other kids while I was growing up,” Charles confessed. “When I felt weak. Not physically, but tearing certain boys - almost always boys - down, more sensitive ones. Then when I realized I’m gay, I got so scared someone would figure it out that I withdrew socially and got more into books instead. Books don’t judge. I think there’s a part of me that would be still be a bully, though, if I thought I could get away with it.”

Nefyn laid a hand on Charles’ bare hip. “Well, the nice thing about D/S is that someone who likes feeling powerful can be paired up with someone who likes being bossed around sometimes. If you do it right, everybody wins.”

“That appeals to me.” Charles slipped one hand under Nefyn’s waistband, being careful of the hidden knife he found with his fingers, in order to map the topography of him. Nefyn closed his eyes and placed his other hand flat on Charles’ chest as if he might get around to pushing him away, but hadn’t firmly decided on it yet. “If I decide I don’t feel like having you teach me how to suck you off right now, if I decide I want you to teach me tonight or tomorrow, and if I decide no, I won’t take your pants off, sorry...what are you going to do about it? Are you going to be stuck like that? Are you going to whine and grind against me like a rowdy puppy? Are you going to beg for me to change my mind? You said consent isn’t absolute.”

“I did say that,” Nefyn said, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Then he ambushed Charles with a hickey only centimeters away from his jugular vein. Charles returned the favor and followed it up with more bites up and down his chest once it became clear it wasn’t going to send him into a flashback. Whoever burned Nefyn must not have followed it up with nibbles, at least. Charles wasn’t trying to hurt him. It felt like claiming him in some way, like if they never saw each other again after Oswald said Charles could move freely, there’d still be ghosts of Charles’ tooth impressions there. 

Moving his right hand back to the outside of Nefyn’s jeans, stroking him through unforgiving denim, Charles continued, “At first I was thinking of it as me being naked and vulnerable and you having some covering. I’ve realized now that we could also think of it as me being unencumbered and you being confined.”

“How many dictionaries do you eat on a regular basis?” Nefyn asked dryly, but the blush had crept up his neck and was starting on his face. 

Charles laughed. “We could think of me as being unarmed and you being heavily armed. You’ve got at least three knives on you. Or we could think of it as you being completely capable of overpowering me but _loving_ that I’ve taken charge for the moment.”

“Have you decided not to blow me then, you ungrateful newbie?” Nefyn’s tone showed he wasn’t actually mad, so Charles nodded solemnly. Nefyn huffed an exaggerated sigh. “Fuck me after dinner?”

Just like that, Charles felt all shy again. “I suppose? Is that the order you really want?”

“I like getting fucked, but I actually prefer vaginas when it’s my turn. Vaginas are cleaner and, I dunno, more welcoming.” Nefyn gave a one-armed shrug. “If I had a long-term romantic partner who had a dick, who also liked it but didn’t have a reliable supply from anyone else, if you know what I mean, I’d do it for that partner. It’s not like I hate it.”

“Have you ever had a romantic boyfriend? Or girlfriend?” Charles had only ever faintly dreamed about having one someday. His first crush, oddly, had been Bruce Lee. His first in-person crush had been his drama teacher, senior year. 

“No. I had a ‘boyfriend’ in middle school, and then a really intense crush on a girl years later, so I know I can have romantic desires as well as sexual ones. That’s been it so far. I think I’d need someone who needed me. Really needed me, in a way that nobody else could satisfy, yet didn’t mind my polyamory. Or job. They could be poly too, of course, but there would have to be some unique way I could take care of them. I’d relate to them better if they’d been through a lot. Smart would be a must. Blue eyes would be a bonus.” Nefyn gave Charles a peck on the cheek and sat up. “Don’t fall in love with me.”

“Don’t worry, I’d want someone only for myself if it was going to be long-term.” Charles eyed Nefyn’s crotch. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I get denied a lot. It’ll fade. I need to exercise. Work on your novel or whatever.”

***

Around five PM, Nefyn got a text saying Dr. Kali was coming with food and anything he might want her to pick up. Even though their relationship was strictly platonic, Nefyn had no problem asking her to bring the mostly-full enema kit from the second-floor hall bathroom. He was sure word had gotten out to the entire household that he and Charles had gotten cozy. 

Kali agreed, though there was no winky face like there would have been from anyone Nefyn _was_ sleeping and/or playing with, and reminded him that his class at the community college was this evening. _I’m authorized to watch him. Besides, he might need to talk._

Nefyn warned Charles about Kali’s approach so he could get dressed properly. While Charles was dressing, Nefyn casually leaned against a wall and said, “Dr. Kali - her whole name is Dr. Kelly ‘Kali’ Lahiri, M.D., but you can call her Kali if you like - used to be a combat medic and was trained in trauma counseling, too. She became a mob doctor later on, then she started dating one of the Zsaszettes - Yoona, you haven’t met her - and our group started going to her so often that Mr. Zsasz invited her to move in.”

Charles shook his head in wonder while buttoning a short-sleeved black collared shirt. “I can’t get over the mental image of all of you living in a big house in a secret location. [It sounds like it could make for a lot of stories.”](https://archiveofourown.org/series/845787)

“Yep. So, uh, she might be a good person to talk to.”

“About what?” Charles was clearly playing dumb. 

Nefyn wasn’t having it. “About what happened. She’s not a fully trained therapist, but she’s helped us with our issues. And we all have issues.” 

Charles’ mouth turned into a thin line. “Maybe.”

Kali arrived at the exact time she said she would, bearing a canvas bag of supplies, edible or not. She was wearing a burnt orange polo shirt and sensible slacks and shoes, her long black braid of hair coiled into a bun. Unlike the Zsaszettes of past and present, all between age 21 (Ploy at the time of her career-ending injury) and 28 (Yoona), she was in her thirties, slightly older than Zsasz himself. Her non-combatant role gave a softer figure than the other ladies, though still fit. Nefyn found it nice to have someone softer around to hug. She handed the bag to Nefyn. “Eat quickly so you won’t be late to class.”

Kali and Charles ate with him, though at a slower pace, and Nefyn was glad to see Charles warm up to her during the conversation. Though he’d rather Kali not have told Charles that embarrassing story of how Nefyn had sprained both his ankles at once.

“That’s what you get for disregarding my advice,” was all Kali said when he spluttered about it, patting his back. She handed him the keys to the car and a wad of ones and fives. “This is to pay the street kid I hired to watch the car.”

Nefyn quickly packed his messenger bag and his water canister before emerging into the dusk. Getting away from the room for a while was nice, even if it was for something interesting but not super fun.

Selina Kyle was sitting on the roof of Kali’s car, petting a stray cat as per usual. “Hey, Knife Boy.”

He waved the cash at her. “Nice to see you’re still alive and kicking, Cat Girl.”

She snatched it out of his hand and jumped down to the cracked pavement. The cat fled. Nefyn sometimes checked on the kids who slept where he used to sleep after his aunt and uncle threw him out. He wasn’t allowed to give them money or feed them, as Zsasz said that could get out of hand real fast, but a few self-defense tips and encouraging words was okay. Nefyn had killed some people who’d been preying on them, too, as part of his freelance experience quota. 

Not that Selina ever needed help from him. Their paths had simply crossed a few times. “I’ve got info for you, if you’ll give me an extra twenty. You’re the only one of Zsasz’s I really know.”

“You’ve got intel that the Zsasz Family doesn’t?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, dude, you know me.”

“You may have forgotten that _I don’t get paid_.” Nefyn jerked his left arm and a small throwing knife dropped from the specially built holster just below his elbow slipped down his leather jacket sleeve and into his hand. The car keys were in his right hand, so getting one of those out would have been less graceful. “What can I get for one of these?”

She leaned in to peer at it. “Teach me how to throw it your next day off?”

“Not the next, I might still be busy. The one after that, though. Under the usual overpass at eleven-thirty AM sharp. Deal?” 

“It has to do with the Lady,” she said, opening her palm.

He put the handle in her hand.“Go on.” The Lady's relationship with her assortment of assassins was professional and nothing more. Not a family. Though the client base was almost always different, even when it came to Zsaszette side projects, it was always good to have some idea of what their rivals were up to.

“Very Ex Mayor Galavan’s sis likes ‘em, tried to whack Jim Gordon through ‘em. She wants a sympathetic-to-Penguin reporter dead. Some lady who wrote a story about how Galavan was manipulating him, and that even though he’s bad and all, he’s not as bad as some people think and some of his outstanding warrants should be dropped. Name’s ‘V’ something. The deadline is real soon. Figure you guys work for Penguin a lot and might care.” 

“Yes. Very much. Thank you. Want a bit of cloth to wrap your payment in? I keep one in case I misplace a sheath.” He also reached for his phone. Some things were more important than class.

***

Talking to Kali was difficult and involved a lot of crying, but Charles was glad to have someone to really listen. Every part of it, every doubt, every fear and bit of guilt and anger. She only talked enough to confirm she was listening and to channel his thoughts when they wandered or got stuck. 

Nefyn was gone for four whole hours longer than expected, but he called Kali and whatever he said put her mind at ease. She said he was running a few extra, spontaneous errands. Charles gathered they were the sort of errands he shouldn’t know about in detail. She made chai and told him about her life, too, and they watched TV. He tried not to think about how, despite her age, she felt more motherly than his own mother had for a long time. 

When Nefyn finally returned, he asked Kali for a private conversation in a far corner of the room. Charles could barely breathe the entire time, wondering if there’d been a change in plan, wondering if he was going to die after all. Nefyn was all smiles when the conversation ended, though, and Kali offered Charles a hug before she left. He accepted, and felt a little sad when she was gone.

Nefyn stripped off his blue leather driving gloves and the sweaty navy blue bandana loosely knotted around his neck. He draped his messenger bag over the back of his chair, took a seat, then jerked his head at Charles’ typewriter. “How fast do you type, exactly?”

“I’ve never taken a test. Why?”

“Have you ever worked on a school newspaper?”

“Yes. Why?” It had been a lot of fun.

“Do you have any interest in journalism? I know it’s not the same as writing fiction.”

“Some interest. I got complacent about learning how to do anything, really, because I thought I’d never have to work for a living.”

Nefyn snorted. “I can imagine. Well, as of about forty minutes ago, Valerie Vale of the Gotham Gazette owes us a...formidable favor. There we go. I had to continue the theme.”

“Of course.”

“Meanwhile, the Penguin could really use an insider who could help spin news stories and also pass along stories that haven’t gone to press yet. Especially while he’s rebuilding, you know? It wouldn’t be totally honest work, but you wouldn’t have to kill anybody.”

Charles blinked. “You didn’t go to class.”

“I had perfect attendance. I’ll get the notes off someone.”

“All that for me?”

Nefyn’s smile was slow and fond. “Candy was available to back me up and is my best friend, plus she owed me a favor to start with. I’m an amoral young man, arguably immoral, but I can still want to help.”

Charles stared at him for a moment. “I want to do things to you I don’t know how to do yet.”

“And I am definitely up for that, but help me wash all my knives first.”

***

It took a lot of fits and starts and even more instructions and guidance, but Charles eventually wrung three whole orgasms out of Nefyn that night. And punched every single conventional male/male slot on his V-card.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't think of a detailed anal sex scene that covered any new ground other than in literal physical positioning. A sex scene where the author isn't feeling it is disservice to all. I apologize to anyone jonesing for one. Next to the epilogue!


	5. Chapter 5

It had been more than a year since Charles last set foot in this house. It was still Elijah Van Dahl’s house, though more and more the Nygma-Cobblepot residence every day, if the bits and pieces of information that made it to Charles were accurate. The Kings of Gotham kept the actual crime out of the house to protect Elijah, but Edward had a home laboratory in there now, and they occasionally entertained.

He’d seen Edward a few times, whenever they wanted Charles to sneak something in or out of the Gotham Gazette that was a big enough deal to discuss in person. He was the member of the household that felt the least uncomfortable around Charles. He hadn’t seen Oswald since one early inspection to make sure Charles’ new housing and employment were adequate. Charles knew he’d been disinherited of anything more than a token goodwill sum, but Oswald had helped him stay afloat until his first paycheck.

Elijah had paid for the funeral but hadn’t attended. Nefyn had been there to make sure Charles didn’t do anything ‘foolish’. He also stuck to Charles under the guise of ‘formerly-secret boyfriend here to show support’ and fended off other guests’ attempts to getting details about the deaths out of Charles. Nefyn was probably ordered to do it, but it was welcome, and some of the fake relationship stories he’d told as a smokescreen were pretty funny. Charles inherited everything of Mother’s and Sasha’s afterwards. He pawned most of the belongings except for a few keepsakes.

With all this metaphorical baggage, Charles was having trouble breathing as he walked up the steps of the mansion and knocked the door. He needlessly adjusted his necktie one last time, careful not to drop the gift-wrapped package. 

Olga opened the door. “Wipe feet,” she ordered, though not unkindly. The streets were a bit muddy after last night’s rain.

Elijah was sitting in the nicest chair in the parlor. Charles knew Oswald, symbolically sitting on his right, and he spotted Candy loitering in a corner of the room with a hoard of canapes carefully balanced in her left hand. He hoped for her sake none of the flaky crumbs would damage her snazzy Italian-cut but feminine suit and her dark red lipstick. It’d be such a shame, given how well it went with her eye makeup. 

He didn’t know the two teenage girls and twenty-something young woman cheerfully squished on the couch with drinks either in hand or in reach. There was a white girl with short dirty blonde hair who looked like a cross between a baby Zsaszette and a motorcycle chick. She had one hand companionably on the thigh of a soft butch black girl with oddly rough-textured skin, like an experimental burn graft that had never healed. Sitting on Dirty Blonde’s other side was the young redheaded woman in a green dress with a sprig of white foxgloves pinned to her chest. Candy waved at him. All the other ladies just stared.

“Happy birthday, sir,” Charles said, nervously making his way to Elijah. With a bittersweet smile, Elijah used his cane as leverage to get out of his seat. Charles knew that Elijah’s health had declined over the past year, but much more slowly that it would have without his son and son-in-law being so protective and supportive.

Oswald took the gift from Charles’ unresisting hands and Elijah hugged him. “No ‘sir’ from you, understood?”

“Okay,” Charles said, a catch in his voice.

“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you to any previous special events. You have to understand that I was still quite, well, raw.” 

“Of course. I know Oswald and Edward’s reception was very small, anyway.” It had been a courthouse appointment followed by a nice dinner and some drinks involving fewer than a dozen guests. Zsasz had been invited, presumably because nobody wanted to disappoint him and possibly in case any enemies tried to gatecrash, but not the rest of his crew. 

Elijah stepped back and clapped a hand on Charles’ upper arm. “But I’m proud of how you’ve made something of yourself. This is a day for us to bury the hatchets between us. Since I’m unlikely to have grandchildren anytime soon, I’ve decided to get to know Oswald’s under-twenty-five employees a bit better. I admit I’ve missed having truly young people in this house.”

“Not counting when a certain stray cat climbs through a window,” Oswald commented dryly, making Dirty Blonde laugh for some reason.

Elijah chuckled as well, settling back in his seat with just as much care. No matter how much Charles had grieved for his mother, her attempts to swap out this generous man’s heart medication had disgusted Charles when he first learned about it.

Time to focus on something else. He glanced back at Candy. “Under twenty-five?”

Candy finished chewing and swallowing one of her treats. “My family made me start working for Sal right after I graduated high school.”

“She tells the best stories about the Maronis,” Burn Scars said, raising her glass with a smirk. 

“I’d like to thank you for helping put media pressure on Quimby, by the way,” Oswald said, handing the gift back to Elijah. He was dressed to the intimidating but admittedly attractive nines, as usual. “It came in handy when making certain recent Arkham-related negotiations.”

“I’m glad. You’re welcome.” Charles had learned not to ask too many questions. Instead, he focused on his stepfather unwrapping the present.

“A history of menswear, how nice,” Elijah said, sounding genuinely pleased.

“Sorry it’s not very creative.”

“No, no, I appreciate it, thank you. I’m always running out of reading material these days, when the doctor and certain busybodies insist that I rest. Please, Charles, have a drink. An appetizer. I need to introduce you to this delightful power trio.”

Charles cleared his throat. “That sounds great, but where - did you invite Nefyn? And where’s Edward?”

Oswald sighed. “They’re looking for a guest who’s wandered off. Again.”

Not wanting Candy to tease him for running after Nefyn, Charles asked, “If it’s all right, I would like to see my old room. Edward mentioned that some of the stuff I never got around to sending for is still boxed up in the closet. Then I’ll come back and socialize.”

“By all means,” Elijah said. 

Candy still winked at Charles. In fact, Charles had barely seen Nefyn at all. The last time had been visit three months ago to celebrate the ending of his apprenticeship and becoming a freelancer who still worked closely with Zsasz and company. He said he’d ended the apprenticeship slightly early as the Penguin’s special request to Zsasz, so he’d be free for an ongoing part-time assignment. It was an assignment Nefyn wasn’t allowed to tell Charles about, not that they did a lot of talking that night anyway.

Charles’ old room had been stripped of all furniture except for the bed, which had protective plastic sheeting rather than any covers or pillows. He was touched that it had been dusted, at least. He didn’t want to stay among musty air and memories for too long. He opened the closet door...

“AHHHHH!”

Then Charles felt a bit silly, because he’d just screamed at a young guy who weighed about a hundred pounds standing up from behind a cardboard box and grabbing his wrist. Startling, but not something to go high-pitched over.

To be fair, the boy was a little creepy. He was probably in his late teens, dressed in brown slacks and a black pullover that was well-made but too large for him, his hand-crocheted gray fingerless gloves accentuating his long and spidery fingers. His eyes, intense in gaze despite being partially hidden behind wave of dark hair, fixed on Charles’ face. “I didn’t mean to do that. But on a scale of one to ten, with one being at ease and ten being heart-stopping terror, how much did I scare you just now?”

“Uh…can you let go of me please?”

Then Nefyn dashed in. “You know you can’t do things like that to other guests.”

“I was regrouping and he startled me.” He let go, though. “I’m sorry.”

Nefyn made a prompting motion in Charles’ direction, so Charles said dutifully, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Were you feeling overwhelmed down there?” Nefyn asked, more gently. When the boy nodded, Nefyn entered the closet himself and took his hand, emerging together. The boy was taller than him but Nefyn could definitely have carried him out if he wanted to.

“Can you take me home?”

“I think it might hurt Mr. Nygma’s feelings if you don’t try some of the food he made, especially when you hardly had any breakfast,” Nefyn said. 

“I ate enough to take meds.”

“That’s not the same, blue jay.”

“But after?”

“After, yes.”

The boy put his arms over Nefyn’s shoulders and kissed him. Nefyn returned the kiss, putting one arm around his waist and slowly rubbing his back. There wasn’t any passion, only clinging gratitude on one side and devotion on the other. 

Edward knocked on the door despite it being open. Charles could have sworn Edward’s total outfit ratios got ten percent greener every time he saw him, and soon he'd need to start piling on accessories to continue the trend. “Jonathan, I’ve got something interesting to show you.” 

Jonathan broke the kiss and eyed Edward with suspicion. “Are you trying to lure me back to the party?”

“You don’t have to go back to the party if you don’t want to. Elijah would enjoy having you there, though. What I want to show you is the odd crystallization that’s occurred in the most recent solution. I noticed it just now when I was looking for you in the lab.”

This didn’t make Jonathan smile, exactly, but he seemed a bit more engaged and grounded. “Do you think it could be because we used the centrifuge this time?”

“Could be! I’d like your input regardless. I revived what my precursor killed.” Edward looked around the room expectantly.

For once, Charles knew the answer to one of his riddles right away. (Though after four months of mulling it over, he’d finally figured out that a condemned man should ask to die of _old age_.) “Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back?” 

Edward gave him a thumbs-up before whirling out of the room. Jonathan followed after, discussing what Charles suspected was some form of mad science. Oswald wouldn’t let anything become too chaotic though, right?

“Who’s he?” Charles asked once they were gone.

Nefyn shut the door. “Nygma decided he wanted to dabble in research and development, right, and he remembered when he helped crack a case involving Jonathan’s dad doing some, uh, shady shit, in order to make a...thing. Sorry, I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you. His dad pressured him into helping. And experimented on him. Messed up his brain. His dad’s dead now and Jonathan spent two years in Arkham, not being treated well even by Arkham standards. Even though he’s not fully okay, he’s really smart, Charles, really really smart, like he’s almost a perfect lab assistant for Nygma, like he was for his dad but better. Since Nygma treats him better, you know.”

The puzzle pieces clicked together. “He’s your ongoing assignment, isn’t he? You babysat me and now you babysit him.”

“He won’t like it if you use that word, but kinda. The combination of outside pressure on Quimby’s reputation - thank you for helping with that - and some good old-fashioned bribes got Jonathan a designation of CURED and a certificate of sanity. That doesn’t mean he’s ready to live independently, though. Plus he almost got kidnapped once. I mean, he can make biochemical weapons and has the muscle mass of a twelve-year-old, what thug wouldn’t want that combination at his disposal?”

More puzzle pieces, and the way Nefyn talked about him, too. Charles remembered their long-ago conversation. “He’s got blue eyes.”

“Yes, so?”

“He needs you. And he’s smart. And he’s been through a lot. Everything you said you wanted.”

“Erm…” Nefyn put his face over his hands and peeked through his fingers like a squeamish horror movie viewer. It was moderately adorable. “Seventeen is legal in this state, and I'm barely twenty-one. Also I kept him waiting for a month after he first asked to make sure it wasn’t some kind of baby bird imprinting thing. To be clear.”

“You don’t need to get defensive,” Charles said. “I wonder what it says about my life that the most honorable person I know is a hit man. Not, say, most virtuous, but most honorable.”

“Oh dear. I don’t know what that says either. Though I prefer ‘hired dagger’. Or ‘Zsaszeur’. Ooh, I have business cards now. By this point Jonathan’s doing well enough that I have some space on my calendar.” He plucked one from his back pocket and handed it over.

It was a minimalist card, to be sure: KNIFEPOINT, with an email address underneath. “Why no phone number?”

“The phone number is only for after I’ve been hired, and only my special work phone. Look on the other side.”

“A...misshapen...hourglass?”

“Look harder.”

Charles realized that the irregular hourglass was a stylized “sZs”. It took him another few seconds to remember “Zsasz” was a palindrome. “Is it like an endorsement?”

“Yes. Do you like my handle? Because my name is _Nef_ yn _Pont_ iac.”

“It’s very nice.” Charles hesitated, trying to think of a segue, then gave up. “I’m nearly done with my novel.”

“Oh?”

“It started out being about a detective who is secretly a frustrated beat poet in the 1950s, but as time went on it started being more about the people the detective is trying to catch. Also the detective falls for one of them. Both are men.” At first the criminal was a woman, but then Charles decided _to hell with it_ and made the change. The writing went by much faster after that.

“That’s pretty cool. Yoona wrote what we all think is a great novel about a biracial bisexual dominatrix and her beloved female mastiff taking down a chapter of the KKK, but after the first few rejections she decided it was cheating to threaten a publisher into accepting it.” Nefyn opened the door for Charles. “Shall we?”

“You literally helped someone out of the closet just now,” Charles said as they made their way to the stairs.

“Hah, I guess I did. You seeing anyone? You should put yourself out there.” 

“Valerie’s been trying to set me up with one of her brothers, but I’ve been waving her away.”

Nefyn wagged his index finger. “Stop waving her away. Be decisive. You never know what the future holds, but you can make it interesting.”

“You’ve taught me that.” Charles didn’t dawdle any longer. He had people to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Commence apologetic-for-the-repetition-but-sincere-because-I-put-all-my-soul-in-this plug:
> 
> I have a published urban fantasy novel you might be interested in. The summary doesn't say so, but six of the major characters are queer in some way or other. I'm amazed they're letting me get away with it. [ Available as ebook and print form on Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DSLT3D2/ref=mp_s_a_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1529183871&sr=8-2&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_FMwebp_QL65&keywords=Donaya+Haymond&dpPl=1&dpID=51cFXjiasBL&ref=plSrch), and in [print from the Barnes & Noble site.](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seasons-turning-donaya-haymond/1129067787?ean=9780999202654)


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